After Godfrey had given up his fox-shooting, not because in itself is a terrible crime, like fishing for salmon with herring roe, but for reasons which most of his countrymen would consider effeminate and absurd, he took to making expeditions, still in company with Juliette, for Madame stretched Continental conventions in his case, in search of certain rare flowers which grew upon the lower slopes of these Alps. In connection with one of these flowers an incident occurred, rather absurd in itself, but which was not without effect upon his fortunes.
The search for a certain floral treasure was long and arduous.
"If only I could find that lovely white bloom," exclaimed Juliette in exasperation at the close of a weary hour of climbing, "why, I would kiss it."
"So would I," said Godfrey, mopping himself with a pocket handkerchief, for the sun was hot, "and with pleasure."
"Hidden flower," invoked Juliette with appropriate heroic gestures, "white, secret, maiden flower, hear us! Discover thyself, O shrinking flower, and thou shalt be kissed by the one that first finds thee."
"I don't know that the flower would care for that," remarked Godfrey, as they renewed their quest.
At length behind a jutting mass of rock, in a miniature valley, not more than a few yards wide that was backed by other rocks, this flower was found. Godfrey and Juliette, passing round either side of the black, projecting mass to the opening of the toy vale beyond, discovered it simultaneously. There it stood, one lovely, lily-like bloom growing alone, virginal, perfect. With a cry of delight they sprang at it, and plucked it from its root, both of them grasping the tall stem.
"I saw it first, and I will kiss it!" cried Juliette, "in token of possession."
"No," said Godfrey, "I did, and I will. I want that flower for my collection."
"So do I, for mine," answered Juliette.
Then they both tried to set this seal of possession upon that lily bloom, with the strange result that their young lips met through its fragile substance and with so much energy that it was crushed and ruined.
"Oh!" said Godfrey with a start, "look what you have done to the flower."
"I! I, wicked one! Well, for the matter of that, look what you have done to my lips. They feel quite bruised."
Then first she laughed, and next looked as though she were going to cry.
"Don't be sad," said Godfrey remorsefully. "No doubt we shall find another, now that we know where they are."
"Perhaps," she answered, "but it is always the first that one remembers, and it is finished," and she threw down the stalk and stamped on it.